The Aylesford Skull

was briefly at Edinburgh, you know, although long before my time. I believe that he called himself by a different name then. He was sent down for practicing vivisection. Doctor Bell brought the charges against him.”

“Is that true?” St. Ives said. “I had no idea.”

“It was kept quiet, of course – hidden from the press lest it sully the reputation of the University.”

The inn door opened just then and a newsboy entered, selling the Daily Telegraph. “Lord Moorgate cuts up rough!” the boy shouted. “Calls Gladstone a bloody anarchist!” He moved among the tables, collecting coins, and was given a bowl of plum duff by Henrietta Billson, who also paid for several copies of the paper, which she hung over a stick on the wall. The act was a kindness, it seemed to St. Ives, since the patrons who wanted the paper had already paid for it. Tubby Frobisher bought a copy as the boy headed toward the door.

“Lord Moorgate is an idiot,” Tubby announced after looking at the front page.

“Moorgate has the Queen’s ear,” Doyle said. “Gladstone is once again on the outs.”

“Aye, she’s influenced by Moorgate,” Tubby said, “but she can’t believe that Gladstone is planting infernal devices around London, for God’s sake. Moorgate hates the Irish and so hates Gladstone. To my mind it’s a crying shame that Moorgate wasn’t stabbed to death in Phoenix Park. A knife in the guts would have gone a long way toward civilizing the man.”

“I dare say,” Doyle said, looking in a wide-eyed way at Tubby.

“Tubby has the habit of speaking what’s on his mind, Doyle, as soon as the thought enters it,” Jack Owlesby said. “His thoughts are his children, you see, and he loves them all equally.”

“What Jack says is true, Mr. Doyle,” Tubby put in. “Jack, on the other hand, very often attempts to say what’s not on his mind, which generally leads to a sad confusion. One time he was bold enough to sing ‘The Highwayman’s Lament’ without ever having heard it. He filled in nine-tenths of the lyrics with ta-dum, ta-dum, ta-dum. It was such a fulsome endeavor that the audience had no need ever to hear it again, something they admitted to the last man, quite vehemently as I recall.”

“Never mind him, Doyle,” Jack said. “Certainly it’s the ale speaking, and not the man, prodigious though he might be.”

“It’s high time we got down to business, gentlemen,” St. Ives said, making an effort to hide his growing impatience.

“I hope it wasn’t forward of me,” Jack put in quickly, “but I took it upon myself to invite Doyle along on our little adventure tonight.”

“Only if it’s entirely convenient to you, sir,” Doyle said. “If you need another hand, so to speak.”

St. Ives regarded him openly and liked what he saw. The man had a forthright and honest face, and a look of great vigor about him. Still, the offer was very nearly senseless, taken all the way around, since Doyle could scarcely know what he was asking. “Thank you for the offer, Mr. Doyle. Aside from the mention of Ignacio Narbondo, did Jack reveal the nature of our business?”

“Not the details,” Jack said.

“Just so. I can tell you, Mr. Doyle – and I adjure you to remain silent on this front – that we’re working on the nether side of the law. It’s odds-on that people will be injured, perhaps killed. I’m in a desperate way, you see, sailing under a black flag. I tell you that plainly. My own safety is of little consequence to me.”

“Nor mine,” said Tubby, who picked up his blackthorn and thumped it on the floorboards. “I intend to knock these people on the head and let Satan sort them out.”

Hasbro said nothing, but his silence and the set look on his face seemed to reveal a like way of thinking.

Doyle looked from one to the other of them and nodded. “I’m with you,” he said to St. Ives. “I’ve read of your exploits in The Graphic, sir, and for a number of reasons I would be pleased to be a part of one of them. I’m a fair boxer, and I’ve made a particular study of a human being’s natural physical weaknesses. I’m unencumbered by a wife, and although it’s true that I have a new practice in Southend, business can be optimistically described as slow, and at present a locum attends to my affairs. He’ll be glad to have another few days’ salary before I return. In short, I’m my own man, and I’m quite prepared to follow you, come what may.”

“There’s spirit for you, eh!” Tubby cried, reaching for his glass. “Let’s drink to the unencumbered Mr. Doyle! We’ll beard Narbondo in his den, and be damned to him.”

“So be it,” St. Ives said, dismissing caution and raising his own glass. “Now there are five of us. I prefer an odd number. Are you armed, Jack?”

Owlesby opened his coat, revealing a marlinspike slipped into a long, narrow pocket.

“And you, Mr. Doyle? We’ll be going into the rookery, Flower and Dean Street, and it’s odds on we’ll have to fight our way out.”

“I prefer to use my fists, sir, if it comes to it.”

“More in keeping with the Oath, perhaps?”

“Yes, although I let my conscience guide me in that regard.”

“Then I advise you to be prudent. No unnecessary heroics. We leave none of us behind, alive or dead, and so it’s best for all of us if we walk out.” To the entire company St. Ives said, “As for the police, if something goes awry, we’ll want the same story – simply that we were set upon by a gang of thieves and undertook to defend ourselves. That should answer nicely, given the low neighborhood, although the police might wonder at our business there. Our adversaries will scarcely lodge a complaint in any event. Mr. Doyle, I’ll reveal to you that Dr. Narbondo has kidnapped my son and is threatening his life. Our only advantage, as Hasbro was just pointing out to me when you three walked in, is that the Doctor is particularly avaricious, always on the lookout for means with which to carry out his schemes. He has demanded a considerable sum of money as ransom. We very much hope that simple greed will preserve the life of my son, giving us time to act.”

The food arrived at the table – thick cuts of roast beef, boiled potatoes with butter, an immense turbot stuffed with an oyster hash, and a leek pastry with bacon. They fell to, eating with a will, St. Ives discovering that he was sharp set, that he relished the food and was vastly hungry, had rarely eaten better – a great contrast with his closed stomach earlier in the day. It was the pending battle that did it, the chance that it was a last meal, or perhaps simply some bodily demand for sustenance before going into dangerous territory.

“I strongly suspect that to Narbondo’s mind this is merely the prelude to further villainy,” St. Ives told them. “It’s quite possible that he means to draw us in, murder us, and have a clear field. Narbondo is rumored to be engaged in some larger, infinitely evil scheme, which we will thwart if ever we can, although thwarting that scheme is secondary to me tonight. Hasbro and I will go in first. They’ll be on the lookout for us, but they have no idea of the three of you. You’ll take no unwarranted chances, but if you can find a way to come around behind them, then between the surprise of the thing and the weight of our attack, we can dispatch them quickly and beard Narbondo in his den.”

“Quite so,” Tubby said, hefting his stick. “If I can’t lay them out like wheat before the scythe, I’m a damned humbug.” He was nearly apoplectic with anticipation, and Doyle looked at him with an expression that was something between admiring wonder and professional concern.

“But we must keep in sight of each other,” St. Ives said, “each looking out for the other.” He talked around the food, telling them what news they had got from Slocumb – the alley, the arched passage, the possibility of multiple exits. The rest they would discover in Spitalfields, come what may.

“One thing, gentlemen,” he said, when they were rising to leave. “If it is within my power to do so, I mean to end Narbondo’s career this evening, by whatever means are necessary, even if we are successful in securing my son unharmed. I have cold-blooded murder in my mind; I tell you that plainly and with no compunctions. If you have any objections to that, then by all means go about your business now; it’s far the more sensible course.”

Tubby laughed out loud, which startled Doyle once again, although he hesitated only a moment before putting out his hand for St. Ives to shake. “One for all, and all for one, as the saying goes.” He winked at Tubby, who slapped him manfully on the shoulder, hard enough to knock a smaller man out of his chair. St. Ives was heartened by the high spirits, but Eddie was ever on his mind, as was Alice, and his own spirits were something less than high. George had been dead right about one thing: St. Ives could not return to Aylesford and to Alice having failed again, not this time.

TWENTY